


A Place of Our Own

by hippononymous



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/F, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 17:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10904406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippononymous/pseuds/hippononymous
Summary: Anne adjusts to the Nassau of Jack and Max's making.





	A Place of Our Own

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Black Sails owns me. I do not own it.

"Augustus Featherstone, our Lord Governor."

"That's the third time you've said that."

But Anne can't be annoyed with him. She's too happy to have him back by her side. She's never been separated from Jack before without knowing that they'd see each other again. She doesn't intend to be from here on out.

"It just doesn’t _ring_. Doesn't quite inspire, does it? Hmm. No. Though, calm in place of inspiration…that does garner promise. Please don't repeat any of this to him. I'm sure he'll do a fine job to the best of his abilities." He sighs and quits in his pacing. Jack looks wrong in this chilled room that's been made hers, not that anything has looked right in it. Anne hasn't gotten a straight answer yet on when they'll be leaving for good. "Max is sure he'll agree to this? To take on Nassau?"

"Why? You think he won't?"

He weighs it, "He displayed more caution than he used to on this latest voyage. And it's not like he was the most daring to begin with. It would seem that Mr. Featherstone became rather comfortable in an administrative position in our absence. A governor's seat and all the protections this particular one provides might be just the place for him."

That's good. One less obstacle.

Jack quiets for a while and sits down next to her. "I can't help but notice that you did not murder our mutual friend after all."

It's the first time he's mentioned her in more than passing since coming back. "She's trying to make it right, Jack."

"I know." He smiles, close-lipped, and it's pained enough that to anyone else it would look like a grimace. "And I won't deny that she makes for a hell of a partner so long as our interests are aligned. It's if we should find them no longer aligned that concerns me."

"They won't."

She believes that.

Anne knows what she means to Jack. It's the same as he means to her. But they've never put it into words. Might be because they don't know how. More like because they don't need to. It's already present every time they're together.

No one's ever given voice to what Anne means to them quite like Max did.

Might not be smart, but Anne believes her. Knows that she won't put Nassau before them.

"They won't," she repeats firmly.

"Much happened, then?"

A knock interrupts before she can begin to answer. She probably wouldn’t have anyway.

"Yes?" Jack calls.

Max enters, Featherstone poking his head in behind her. He smiles once in greeting before backing out, having registered the state of the occupants.

"She will be ready for us now," Max says, and with any luck, this will be the last day any of them spend with a Guthrie again for some time.

"First meeting between the two?" Jack nods toward Featherstone's exit.

Max briefly looks behind her, reading Jack's mind. Not for the first time since coming here, Anne wishes she would have been with them. Something happened while she had been in and out of agony below deck. Some part of Jack had to have been as angry as she was, yet he and Max swiftly put it all aside in order to reclaim Nassau.

They did it while she was alone and the pain had burned and numbed in equal measure, and she doesn't know how they got here. No one's told her.

She doesn't know how long they'll stay.

"We need not worry. I have gained her ear more thoroughly than I could have anticipated," Max assures him.

"So much certainty in the air since last I was with you." Jack glances between them, and Anne waits for him to say something to ruin this, to bring everything up that will make it all harder. But he perks up instead. "Good. Let's use it."

He leaves first, and Max hesitates in following. They haven't talked since Jack sailed in; haven't been alone. Max doesn't say much now either. Just tells her to ask Idelle should she need anything while they're gone.

Anne could stop her, say anything herself. Max would stay. She knows it.

But she lets her go and hopes like hell that they'll be sailing south tomorrow.

*

The journey back to Nassau is uneventful and seems to take only half the time as it did sailing north. Anne's on deck this time as soon as it warms up enough. There's a relief to it, in being able to stand there again next to Jack. To sail with him even in limited capacity. But she thought maybe it'd feel different. _Sharper_.

They have a clear path ahead of them now. The fight is over, and soon they'll be _back_.

It's been months since she's stepped foot on that island. Before Philadelphia, it had been nothing but weeks of back and forth between ships and the maroons' camp. Now, the ground will be settled underneath them again. They'll be back, and Nassau will be theirs.

Anne had expected something in her to right itself at that. Instead, she's meandering the entire way back.

Max is on deck with them. She sticks with Idelle. Talks to Featherstone, occasionally Jack. Makes inquiries to him about how far out they are. The most she does is look Anne's way when they're surrounded by anyone else.

She had hoped once that Max would have gone with them. It had been a fool's hope and she had known better, but she remembers briefly dreaming it up anyway. Remembers not understanding why Max would want to stay in a Nassau that claims to be civilized but would do nothing but bind and batter until all that's left is to reform those who remain.

She thinks it would have been like this. At the very least looked like this. Seeing Max sail with them is an image she could have lived without. It dredges up too much better left forgotten.

_Maybe._

The anger burns out of her without any say on her end. It's left buried in the snow below street lanterns that remind her too much of England. And with its loss, Anne knows even less of what to be feeling. Moving forward feels like moving back, but how can they just move back after everything? To pretend like none of it happened?

Max is different now than she was when they were last together. She's open in ways she wasn't then; has erased distances she put into place. Before, Anne had fallen into it, into _them_ , with little thought after returning with the gold. And while Max had been in that place with her, she never stayed for as long as Anne did. Max had been preparing for the fallout from the second Anne and Jack had sailed the _Walrus_ back. And now–

 _Now_.

Anne still doesn't know what to think of _now_.

*

Nassau is a mess. The smell of shit and piss hits them the second they come ashore. That in itself is not far out of sorts. Nor are the flies surrounding rotten meat and dried fruit from ruined merchant stands. Spain did a number on the structures, but nothing has fallen. It looks the same.

It's the quiet that's different. _Wrong_. Anne's never seen it so empty. Anyone who's left seems to be keeping indoors. Only the inn seems to be in working order as some of the men forgo the beach and make their way to it. _'Course it is._

The rest of it doesn't feel much like victory for any of them.

Featherstone voices it first. " _This_ is what we've been fighting for?"

"It'll clear up." Idelle squeezes him arm, though she doesn't look to believe it herself.  

They don't get much farther before they're being accosted. That Mapleton bitch has come to stand in their path, looking as pleased with herself as she always has.

"There they are," she greets. "I knew we hadn't seen the last of you. Against all odds, yet here you are. Back, when everyone least expects it."

"You're familiar with the concept, are you not? Might even say you invented it," Jack quips.  

"Good," she carries on. "Then let's talk business." Beside her, Jack sighs. "I'll need passage out."

"Leaving us so soon? And just when we've acquired power? I'm surprised and a bit disappointed if we're being honest, but ta-ta with you."

"Not for me."

"Ah."

"If you recall, I did not come across the information you so desperately needed on my own. It's Eleanor Guthrie's chambermaid that's yearning for London. She's been in and out of the inn every few days since you left. I think she's even stopped blushing by now."

Max clears her throat, gaining their attention. "Please send word to Mrs. Hudson that I will find her a ship as soon as I am able."

"Good to have you back, ma'am." It seems genuine. She actually smiles at Max, and it's just another change. "And I'm sure I'll receive word when the next council session is taking place," Mapleton turns back to engage Jack.

Jack looks pinched. "Of course."

"Fuck was that about?" Anne asks as soon as the woman leaves.

"You're putting _Mapleton_ on your council?" Idelle follows up with Featherstone.

"Price of doing business."

"We never would have found where Flint and Rogers had gone without her," Jack explains.

"Good to know just whose hands you've kept Nassau in." Idelle brushes off Featherstone and strides into the inn. 

"Right, then." Featherstone shrugs it off and continues on, Jack and Anne following.

They've agreed to look into what's been made of the governor's place. It's where they'll be staying for now if possible. Last time, Jack had made it his home and Anne–

She stops. Max is still out there. She's staring contemplative at the inn and hasn't followed after Idelle yet. 

Anne walks back over. "You never left?" Max turns to her, puzzled. But that could also be because this is the first thing Anne has said to her since setting sail. "Found a different room?"

Recognition flashes in her eyes for a moment. "Where else would I go? To sleep behind bars in a cage of my own making like Eleanor did? This is home. I will not forget it simply because I have moved beyond it." She smiles lightly, but it doesn't reach past her lips. "I will see what the street offers as far as doctors and send one to you." Max inclines her head as Jack comes back to lead Anne ahead again.

*

The governor's mansion is in a worse state than the street. It's clear no one's had any reason to be up here since Rogers's capture.

"Astonishing, isn't it?" Jack takes a quick look around. "We hold this place for months, never a dull moment. Dozens of men in and out at all hours of the night. Yet, Flint and Silver stay for a _week_ and leave the place in absolute tatters."

"Well, I'm sure the Spanish had something to do with that," Featherstone offers. "I guess we should start cleaning. Or find people who…do that. I'm sure someone will work here if we offer something resembling a wage. Though, I don't know where we'll get it from just yet." He wipes his hand off the bannister and climbs the stairs to see what's left of his new home.

"It would seem we put the right man in charge."

Jack leads them to the next room over and pays extra care in sitting Anne at the center table. She's feeling better but lets him fuss anyway. He moves away to pick up a flagon, sniffs at the wine, and drops it back on the desk. He dodges back when the desk's bottom falls out. Jack simply stares for a moment.

"Quite the project we've taken on. Shit load to do." He kicks at the splintered wood.

"It'll get done," she picks him back up.

"We'll need to clear this place up. See what's left of the interior. Hire workers to repair the damage the invasion has wrought. Not to mention acquiring a ship and replenishing our crew. And most importantly, getting you healed up enough to sail with us." Jack smiles at her until a dark cloud settles over it, and he loses himself. "All while spinning the tall tale of Captain Flint's buried treasure. _Flint's_ treasure."

It's their most important task. Letting go of the cache for good. Making it so it seems like they all surrendered. To some it will be a story of defeat. That'll be hardest for Jack to accept, she knows.

"No one will ever know," Jack says, and it's the first sign of exhaustion she's seen on him. He was still spirited leaving Philadelphia. "They won't know of the losses or the betrayals. The impossible choices. The war itself. They won't ever know just what it was that was buried in the ground with that cache. To the world, it will be nothing more than the sediments of a long forgotten treasure galleon–if even that," Jack drifts, as he does. "I suppose if I were to look, I'd find a great irony to it all. After all the effort it took to secure, and the sheer amount of hands it made its way through…As of now, it's nothing but a pile of dirt, laid down by a ghost of a man on a mirage of an island. Perhaps it won't be the worst story to be a part of."

"Fuck your stories, Jack," she pulls him back again. He's affronted until she continues. "We'll get it back. Maybe not a treasure's worth. But we'll try to make something better here."

He takes a seat next to her and relaxes. "A Nassau of our own making. One to wield and shape as we like. Not Avery's or Teach. Not the Guthrie family–regardless of who may be in Max's ear. Not the English. Not Spain. Nor the Black. But _ours_. Freedom without any of the dangers that would have come alongside the likes of Flint." He laughs once under his breath. "Or Charles."

"And you think this place will stay like that? After everything?"

Jack is sure. Max is sure. Anne has her doubts.

"Oh, for some time at any rate. Stability is what will matter most to anyone left here. After that…Well. There is certainly much more room to maneuver."

*

Anne heals alongside Nassau.

Jack has an easier go at finding workmen for restorations than he did when they were needed for the fort. Featherstone is seated as Governor by an unspoken agreement from the town, and everyone has a common ground to see this through.

It ain't like last time. The gold had brought nothing but conflicts for everyone. There's order here now rather than restlessness.

 _A Nassau with order_ …Anne doesn't know what the fuck to make of it. Nor the fact that Jack is so okay with it. That this is something he's working towards. That he's fine with Featherstone taking all the credit.

Her stiches come out. The swelling around her eye goes down. Mobility comes back. But her ribs are still a mess, and her grip comes and goes.

Anne's left with pained, red scars. She's no stranger to them or to the wounds that are still closing. Even so, she's still being looked after when time allows it.

Max comes this time to tend to what's left. She doesn't need to be here. Anne is fine on her own now.

"You don't need to be doing this," she tells her, and all of this would probably be easier if Max would just look at her for longer than a moment.

But she doesn't.

Max stays focused on the task in front of her.

"Jack asked me to."

"Jack asked you to?"

It's just one more thing that doesn't make sense, but no further explanation is offered.

"Yes." She finally looks up, and it's uncertain enough that it's like she never looks at all. And Anne is not used to Max being uncertain. Cautious at times maybe, but not this. "If you would prefer-"

"No."

Max being here is something she wants. That much she does know. Maybe for now that's all she needs to know.

She stops Max's ministrations. The salve has already been rubbed in by thumbs circling against her skin. She turns her hands over to loosely grab onto Max's without the guise of another purpose. They relax naturally, and Anne would rather just sit here like this in the quiet, holding Max's hands.

They've never been soft exactly. Anne used to dream they would be. That they'd be completely unlike hers the way everything about Max seemed to be. That's what she thought until Max came to her room and Anne held a knife to her throat. They weren't soft to the touch then either, but they were gentle and deliberate in their movements. And how is it that they were able to cut through that confusion in one moment, but this time it persists in shadowing over everything?

Sometimes it seems like only Anne is healing. That no other progress can be made until she's finished. That she and Max will stay here in this limbo while everything gets better around them.

That it'll never touch them otherwise.

*

Half the stairs are still torn to pieces. The wall has been covered from where Spain's broadsides hit it, but the stairs are still shattered. Anne's not sure how the inn has been passed over for repairs while the rest of the street is mostly in order now. But then no one in here seems to even notice.

Nassau could be burning down around them, and this fucking whorehouse would still carry on with its trading of secrets and pleasures. She's seen it happen. Hasn't forgotten any of it. Maybe no longer wants to.

Anne's been here sitting and watching now for a while. Waiting, more like. She doesn't know what for. But up and down and up and down, bumping into each other as they go, the girls and their patrons make use of the stairs left standing. Anne stopped counting several pairs ago. She should just get it over with and climb them herself. She'd probably be given a wide berth unlike the rest. It wouldn't be difficult.

Once, she wouldn't have hesitated. Even before she knew Max. Back when Max was nothing but the whore Eleanor Guthrie favored; someone who existed only peripherally while Anne and Jack came here to fuck and recover from whatever mess Vane had made that day. If there had ever been a reason to raid Max's room, Anne would have gone where she pleased. She stalked outside of it at any rate, but that's a nightmare she'd sooner not revisit just then. 

After, despite all the reasons not to find herself before Max's door, she'd still left Jack's bed. Before he knew. After he knew. It didn't take much to pace down the hall and knock. Then the gold came, and it was suddenly as much Anne's room as it was hers.

It's Max's room again, and it's never seemed so far away. The stairs have never seemed so steep. Even if they were whole, they'd seem prized to fall out from beneath her. 

"She's up there, you know. _Max_. Can't imagine there's any other reason you'd be here," Idelle says, impatient as she stops by Anne's perch.

Idelle had been a part of their resistance. Anne doesn't know the details there or why it even mattered to her. Nor does she understand how someone so loyal to Max could have crossed her interests. But Jack says that Max hadn't turned on her or Featherstone either. All of it's muddled.

Idelle doesn't like Anne being here, though. That's been clear as daybreak since she came in. She's just avoided her till now. If Anne were in her place, she'd tell her to get the fuck out and be done with it. Why Idelle would rather try to help despite having no reason to will always escape her.

"Jack needs to see her," Anne says. "Can you tell her that?"

"I'm the governor's adviser not your messenger girl. Jack needs you to fetch Max, then do it yourself."

She means to walk away but Anne grabs onto her before she can. She's already been in here too long.

"Just give her the message."

Anne leaves the inn without glancing back.

*

Jack resurrects the _Colonial Dawn._ He hadn't planned to. They had no idea it was even still here. But once he finds out Woodes Rogers had taken over it and several ships left behind for a line of defense, Jack can't help but take it back.

The crew flocks to them easily. At first it seems because Jack's the last captain standing; that they have nowhere else to go. But they soon learn that it's purely _Jack_. Men would choose to sail under Jack Rackham's flag even if there was another choice to be had.

They head out as soon as they are able despite Jack's reluctance. He had promised to wait for Anne, but the men insist otherwise. He can't do anything to jeopardize their faith in him when he's only just gained it. Anne hates being parted from him again so soon, but he swears it's only for a few days. She's left grounded on the beach, waiting until the time comes.

Nassau holds its breath together. There's no longer a reason to fear any pirates. Featherstone makes it clear he won't allow piracy in his waters and any concerns are unwarranted. There are no pirates left in Nassau.

So he says.

In truth, they had all agreed behind closed doors that a little piracy would do well to drive up income. His council sees to it that trading here would have a premium due to the threat of them. It means more profit just so long as no wars are being waged.

Anne doesn't much care about profits. She only wants to sail again.

*

"Will you be paying this time?"

Mapleton's been stalking her since she got it. Anne's never thought much of the woman and can't figure why Max would have brought her back into all this. She'll fuck them all over should the opportunity arise.

Right now, Anne ignores her, sips her drink.

"Of course if there's something else your coin is after, well, there's no shortage in choice." Mapleton cuts in her line of vision, motions toward some of the girls. And Anne once more feels the exposure, the vulnerability, of not having blades at her side. "All you need is to say the word."

"Leave."

The older woman huffs but thankfully moves on. Idelle steps into her place, and Anne doesn't like how this continued interaction has become preferable.

"You're in luck," Idelle says, and it's not as icy as it was last she was here. Not cordial either. "She's asked not to be disturbed. Guess that means you have a reason to go about your business in staring at her door for the next hour."

Anne glares and makes over to the broken stairs without thinking about it anymore. The doors are shut, and she knocks once with her boot.

"You in there?" She waits for the response before entering.

It's just as she remembers. Nothing about the room has changed. Anne had no reason to expect otherwise. She knows this is the one thing Max will always keep constant.

Max doesn't seem surprised to see her from the vantage point of her desk. She calmly continues writing in her ledgers, and Anne can't help but wonder how long Max has known that she's been sitting downstairs. Probably since the first time she came in. Words don't stay still here. Not outside this room.

In here, it's quiet.

She used to think it was too loud. That too much from outside broke in. That there had been too much to disturb. 

"Jack's gonna set sail again in three days' time," Anne interrupts the silence as she sits on the chaise.

"Yes, he told me."

'Course he has. There's no shortage of communication between the two. Seems these days Jack knows of Max's plans long before Anne does. She usually only hears of them after they've already occurred. It ain't right. It ain't fair to think of it that way either when it's her own doing. It'd have her out of kilter if she paid much mind to it.

But Anne doesn't dwell on it. Not when they've all found this amity, tremulous as it may still feel at times.

"I'm thinking of going with."

Max looks up sharply at that. "You feel up to this?" She traces the ledger's edge, rolls the corner nervously. She doesn't think Anne is ready. That or she doesn't want her to be.

And maybe Anne shouldn't be, but she _is_.

Her hands no longer ache, and she's eating on her own without spilling. It's something she can do. It's something she needs to do.

"Yeah."

Max breaths deep and slow, calming. "Then this is good news."

*

Jack's lively as he goes over the details of their coming excursion. Anne already knows them, but she lets him go on again. He wants to make sure she's fully prepared and outfitted when Max makes mention of still having some of Anne's belongings.

It's mostly just a few undershirts Anne no longer has use for. And her old hat. That's here, too. It's seen better days and worse ones still, but she feels better with it on. Much like she did yesterday when she and Jack replaced her knives and belt.

But it feels too big on her in a way and she adjusts it again. She glances back over to find Max regarding her with a tender expression, unmistakably fond. Anne ignores the old instinct of ducking beneath her hat.

"You kept this." It isn't a question. She's looking for an answer anyway. 

"Why would I get rid of it? It does not hurt to hold on to some things."

Which isn't much of an answer at all. Anne's starting to feel like what they don't say means more than what they actually do.

"How long will you be gone?" Max shifts topics.

"A week. Maybe two."

Anne would have thought it's because of the dresses and the corsets underneath. That Max's breaths came rapid and never seemed to contain enough air was simply because of her clothes. Expect Max breathed that same way whenever she was afraid before she even started wearing them.

She's doing it now. In and out, over and over. Noticeable enough that her shoulders move with each attempt. She catches herself and calms some, reaching out lightly to trace under Anne's eye. The scarring there is still evident, brighter than anywhere else on her. But then she backs away again quickly, closing her fist.

 _Max_ is not ready for this. For Anne sailing again. But she doesn't say that either. She relaxes; smiles for Anne's benefit.

"Try and make sure that Jack's luck does not run out?"

"Don't do that," Anne murmurs. The smile is lost, and Anne takes one of her hands. "We'll be fine."

When she makes it back downstairs, Jack is waiting at the bottom of them for her. He's wearing the same look as Max had when he sees her.

"What?"

"You look like Anne Bonny." He tugs on the brim of her hat until she brushes him off. "No use standing around here. Shall we?"

*

Something finally settles in her when they hit open water. Anne finds her center and is balanced again. She's meant to be here with Nassau at their backs, unchanging.

Her mind can't help but drift to Max, though. She won't see her again for days. It hasn't been like that since before Philadelphia, when Max avoided her the entire way there.

It's not worse than when they divided up their share of the gold. She knows exactly when they'll see each other again. It shouldn't feel the same.

But it does for ten days until they're anchoring again in the bay.

*

A storm's coming. Anne can feel in sticking in the air, but it's still too far off for the chill that comes right before. The night weighs heavy on them with the heat. Nassau's slow tonight. No one can do much without breaking a sweat. She's clammy just sitting here on the floor beside Max's bed.

Max lies behind her, hand resting near the edge where Anne leans. She won't reach out, though, and no breeze comes through the window to make that bearable. Why would it?

"I didn't ever wanna come back here." It gains Max's attention. Anne doesn't need to check, she hears her shift on the sheets. "To Nassau. Before it all went to shit. When we were chasing Rogers, I asked Jack for that to be the end of it. To walk away after. Even back when we first got the cache, I wanted to leave it all behind."

"And what did he say?"

"That he would." She remembers they were interrupted, but he had been going to agree, hadn't he? "Or maybe he didn't." _Fuck difference did it make in the end?_ "Jack can't do that. He can't leave it behind. He's put too much of himself into it. Has made it all seem more important than it is." As if all of this is worthless otherwise. He's too stubborn to let it go. But he also said he's doing this for them. That they'd come first, that Anne would and, "You did the same."

Max hesitates but responds, a quiet, "Yes."

"I know what it still means to the both of you." It may be Jack's legacy, but it's _home_ for Max. Anne's home has always been a person. It's hard to imagine Nassau ever meaning as much to her.

"Nassau is not worth as much as it demands from any of us." Anne finally turns around at that. "And I think that Jack and I are equally aware of this fact. But it is ours now to do with as we wish. For once, we have it within our hold and not the other way around. Would you have rather not returned?"

She says it so simple like they would leave if that's what Anne wanted but, "Where else would we go?"

Max's breath catches softly, and for a moment, it's like she's somewhere else entirely. But only for a moment.

"I have no idea." Max sighs and finally reaches out, rubbing small circles into the back of her neck. "But this is only a place. I would hope by now we can all see that we are separate from it."

*

It happens when they're asked to stay anchored for a while. It's at Max's request and Featherstone's urging. A merchant out of Boston who specializes in importing from the Far East has settled on the Bahamas due to piracy finally being eradicated. It's commissioned by the Guthries'. That's all they've been told. That's all Max or Featherstone will tell them.

It's not much of a matter, but Jack's slighted by it. His moods have fluctuated as of late. Not even Anne can get much of a handle on them. Being excluded from the inner circle now lugs up too much.

They find themselves killing time in the mansion as Idelle meets with Featherstone. There's no reason for them to even be there, and Jack's begun venting over Rogers and Max and the cache again. Neither of their companions is thrilled by it. Part of her wants to tell him to shut it, but it feels too much like choosing between them. She knows that's how Jack would see it.

Idelle saves her from her warring thoughts and says something that Anne knows immediately they won't come back from.

"You are aware that when Max first made that deal, you weren't yet a part of it? Please tell me you know at least that much?" Her patience has run thin.

"Woodes Rogers might have made mention, but I'm a little disinclined to believe anything the man had to say as it were." Jack frowns, it's a blur. "Nor do I see her betrayal as something Max would discuss at length with you or anyone else. Pardon me for having my doubts."

"It's not something Max needed to tell me. I know from the girls. The ones I asked to get close to Major Andrews and his men. The ones _I_ asked, behind her back, to find where the exchange was taking place so Captain Vane could intercept it." Idelle spares a cold glance toward Anne. "You're welcome for that, by the way. Now, if you're done acting like a child, we might actually get something accomplished."

Jack's no longer paying any attention to Idelle. He's focused solely on her.

"Anne?" She ignores him, already halfway out of the door. " _Anne_."

Anne bristles as she storms her way down the governor's stairs. She can't feel a single one of them beneath her feet. The dust of the road doesn't register nor do any of the people steering clear of her path. She cares little that the door to Max's office is shut and less of who may be in the tavern. Anne doesn't stop until she's barging in and the door is slamming shut behind her.

Max springs up from her chair, that fucking chair that caused all of this, within seconds. "What has happened?"

Anne's mouth goes dry and the words are no longer there. Max refuses to look away from her but tilts her head toward the serving girl standing a few feet away. Anne hadn't even noticed her.

"Leave us, please," Max directs the women– _Eme_ , that's her name, she abruptly remembers.

Eme stays and glances between the two of them until Max nods once in reassurance. She's surrounded by friends here, surrounded by people who have her back. Anne's not even sure if she's aware how deep it goes.

"What is it?" Max asks once they're alone. The concern rolls off of her in waves. She moves to step forward but stops, curls and uncurls her fingers as she reconsiders making contact. Anne feels it sharply as though it a loss.

"Jack wasn't part of the deal. Rogers, he changed it later, after we met." Of the hundreds of responses Anne could have thought up to that, Max delivers the one she'd least expect. She sits back down, plainly relieved that this isn't a crisis. "Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?" Anne leans over the desk.

"Because it does not matter."

"'Course it matters."

"Anne." She closes her eyes for a moment, picks up a quill only to drop it again. "You do not understand what you know. You do not have all of the information."

"Then give it."

"It changes nothing. Can you not see that?" She's trying to sound reasonable, but it hitches in her tone. Anne's never known how to react in response when Max is upset. She can already feel the anger seeping out of her. "It does not matter that the governor altered the deal without my knowledge. I lied. _To you._ I aligned myself against you. When I went to Jack and first spoke to him about converting the gold, it was to secure my future, but I also wanted to secure yours. And still I betrayed that. I tried to take that from you all to ensure my fate here.

"I did not wish for Jack to be included in the exchange, but I did nothing to stop it once I found out he was. I was the one to alert the governor's men that the transport was to be assaulted by you on the road. My actions might not have cost you Jack, but they cost you a partner. And while I advised against the hanging of Captain Vane, it certainly was not for his benefit. And I was not thinking of you. I was thinking of Nassau because I knew what would follow should he be executed here. Eleanor saw differently," she tacks on, muted suddenly, and Anne still doesn't know what their relationship was like by that point.

But she already knows that side of the story. For a moment, Anne almost wants to blame it all on Eleanor Guthrie. It'd be the easier thing to do. But when has that ever gotten anyone anywhere?

Max wrings her hands and steadies herself. The composure returns naturally, and Anne levels with it.

"Now you know all that took place, and what does it change for you?" She finds her pace, methodical but sincere. "It makes no difference that I initially did not agree to also exchange Jack. Or that the lie I told you was different than the one you thought. It does not make anything right with you. I do not know how to make anything right with you or even that I can. I will live with the mistakes I have made and the regrets that I have, and I will never go against your interests again. But I am also aware how empty that promise sounds to you right now. And I do not want to offer anymore apologies because this is something that warrants so much more than an apology."

Anne shouldn't ache for her the way she does. Shit knows she shouldn't. But Max being disgusted with herself, _sickened_ was the word she had used before, doesn't sit right. It never would.

Besides she's right. Nothing's changed this morning from last night. Jack's whining will taper off by tomorrow, and he and Max will go back to working in tandem. Thinking there might be some miracle of an explanation had been a mistake.

Anne loves her. Messy and abstruse but hopeful still, Anne loves her. Max needs to know that. It's not for nothing.

"It ain't empty. Your promise. Fuck knows why it's not, but it ain't. I don't know how to make this right either. Not any of it. But maybe it shouldn't be about that. We're supposed to be making something better here. Better than what was here before. That's what all of this is about, ain't it? So why does that only have to be about Nassau?"

Max stands again, this time stepping around her desk. "It will take time. But I will be committed to it."

As will Anne.

*

They get back on the water eventually.

It's strange considering, but she and Jack have never sailed much with him as Captain before now. It had been only briefly, in between the years sailing under Vane and the months beside Teach. Anne told him before that she thought they'd always be sailing with giants. Now Jack's the giant.

And she can see it's run hollow on him. There are times that his disappointment is evident. That they've won doesn’t matter when this is all there is in victory.

But this has to be enough. He knows that, too.

Jack's not her concern. It's the men gravitating after him. The ones whose presence makes everything less hollow. She's worried what he'll do to keep them at his side. That if they start whispering for more, Jack might just hear them.

He's already recruiting anyone looking to crew up. Designing new flags, reading new charts.

They can't ruin this. Not now. Not this far into it.

*

The crew has always known better than to approach her. Anne made sure of that years ago. They've never mattered to her beyond whether or not they'll fuck up and get either her or Jack killed. So she doesn't quite know what to make of it when one is seeking to talk to her as though they're friends.

It's the newest one, _Read_ , who knows little and asks too much.

"I don't think you're supposed to be back there," Read says as if it were true. But Anne will stay where she wants. She's always felt comfortable behind this bar.

She remembers coming back from the _Urca_ to find that Max had bought the tavern. Eleanor Guthrie had barely been dragged away in chains, and Max had already taken over. After Jack was nearly killed, it had felt like a nice bit of retribution.

When it belonged to the Guthries, Vane had never much come in here so neither did Anne or Jack. She never liked it much when they did. The business side of things lorded over everything else by design. Eleanor Guthrie needed them all to know who exactly it was that was in charge. Felt too much like ownership by a woman who would never step more than a foot into their world. The men were always too ill-tempered in here because of it.

Max worked without being seen and created order where there had been little, and no one had been the wiser.

But then that's Max's story.

"It's fine," Anne bites out. Read at least seems to understand and walks away toward some of their men. She turns back to find Max approaching instead. The meeting's over, then. _Good_.

"With the rate Jack is taking on every last known pirate in New Providence, you soon will not be able to see your ship past your crew."

"We'll manage," Anne defends even though she's expressed as much to Jack.

But Max pays it no mind. She's still watching after Read curiously, and Anne passes her a drink, pulling back her focus.

"You are aware that that is a woman, yes?"

Anne had suspicions that she wouldn't give voice to. Max sharing them is good as confirmation. Not that it matters.

"The men aren't. Neither is Jack." She shrugs. "Introduced himself as a man. Ain't like it's our business why." It's not entirely unheard of, Max knows that, too. And with it, the conversation ends. 

Another doesn't take its place, and Anne's tired of waiting. She's not sure if either of them are even doing it on purpose. Max still smiles sometimes where it doesn't go past her mouth. And Anne wants to see it light up in her eyes again. To emit without thought like it did when she was talking about starting a future together in Philadelphia, before Anne chased it away.

She wants to follow after it. To be drawn in like she's always been with Max. Anne wants to–she _wants_.

"It is _exhausting_ being me." Featherstone all but collapses down at the counter. They both start at the disturbance. "If he hadn't turned out to be such a lying shit, I may even feel some small amount of sympathy toward Woodes Rogers."

Max clears her throat, suddenly looking just as exhausted. Whether it be by the interruption or impended wrangling, Anne can't tell. "Do you think it wise for the governor to be having drinks down here with us?"

"Why not? The people see this and still feel as though I am one of them," he says and waves back towards Max's office. "And the men in there will continue to make the false assumption that I am less than the respectable men they are. Neither is true anymore, but it keeps everyone happy."

"They do not see you as _less_. They see you as profitable. Perhaps we do not give them room to doubt it?"

"Why would they doubt it? The street loves me. They shower me with praises over accomplishments I had nothing to do with," he boasts, but it's empty. "If I truly were a lesser man, that might goad me. To finally be acknowledged, far out of the range of a casted shadow, all for something you didn't do. Truth seems to have less meaning the farther we go, and I'd rather sit down here with the two of you, if it's all the same."

Max softens at that. "There is truth to what we are writing for Nassau now, but if you-"

"Look," he interrupts. "You're a local business owner, are you not? You're on my council. So as far as anyone in this bar is concerned, we're talking business over drinks like any two old friends." He raises a toast and waits until Max relents and joins in.

It's another compromise however small. As is the two of them staying down here with a governor who isn't a governor at all.

But she's done waiting.

*

They've never done this before. Kiss without it leading to something more. The same used to be true for her and Jack, too, before Max came into their life and changed everything. It's different now.

It just happens.

Max had been running a soothing hand through her hair when a particularly loud crash rang out from downstairs. She was close to getting up to check before waving it off and Anne leaned over and kissed her because she _could_. Mostly, she had been thinking about it all night, and she's never been able to resist Max for long.

Anne's never been the one to lead in this dance of theirs either. Max usually read what Anne wanted and guided her into it.

Now, though, Max's breath stutters, and she gulps back something like a sob and stares in wonderment; like she never expected this to happen.

It's too much and not enough and it's simpler to do nothing more than fall asleep with Max's arms wrapped around her.

*

"Evening," Read greets, sitting across from her without invite.

Anne's been waiting downstairs in the tavern for Max to finish with another day's bookkeeping and measuring of the street's temperament. She and Mapleton have been talking through a few rounds now. Or rather, Mapleton's been on her ear while Max surveys the room, eyes finding Anne more often than not.

Not much new to survey. Merely the men gambling and drinking, as they are wont to do. Read has been in the center of it all night, still looking for camaraderie on the crew. Anne's as well, it would seem.

"That woman. _Max_." And _that_ , Read's eyes on Max, puts her further on edge. "She owns this place. And plenty else. It's said the street don't act without her blessing it. That would make her the real power in Nassau, then?" Read doesn't wait for confirmation. "So how did our crew end up coordinating with her? There are whispers that she's the one who first led you to Flint's treasure. But that your partnership had a falling out. I suppose that would make it odd, then, that we all spend so much time in her establishments. Who is she to us, exactly?"

"Fuck's it matter to you?" she growls, but the effect seems to have worn thin.

"Guess it don't." Read stays seated and holds up a hand in surrender. "I only hear things."

"Forget what you heard. Anyone can tell a story. Don't make it true."

"Not what the captain says."

"Yeah, I'm sure it ain't."

Jack's stories continue to grow in length. As do the amount of people listening. She starting to think he actually believes them. Read following after him, demanding of more doesn't help matters. Anne doesn’t trust any of them to be left alone together for long.

"Why did you join our crew?" Anne demands after a moment. "You sought us out. Wasn't like we found you. Think you'll find a treasure with us? One where no one knows is buried? You'll have better luck winning a fortune with your dice."

Read looks up, hopeful at finally being engaged, before trying to answer. "War don't leave much behind. There isn't much opportunity for a gent like me after his service is through. I don't know how to do much other than sail. But merchant trading…in my experience, is a thankless endeavor unless you own the ship. Our practice might be on the wrong side of the law, but it guarantees a touch more freedom and prosperity than what's meant to be the right side. Captain Jack Rackham is a name that's traveled far across the New World. I didn't hear of anyone else still sailing under the black. That's why I chose your crew."

As if reaching for the impersonal, Read leans back, shrugs leisurely. It's false. "'Sides. He's fair, the captain. They say he ain't like the others. They say that his partner is a woman who gives orders same as any man." Read looks her over. It feels like appraisal. Anne doesn't much give a shit if any merit's been found. "They say that he could have slew the last governor, the one who waged war on our brotherhood, but that he spared him. Sounds a better man than most I've sailed under."

"Fair is one word for it."

If it had been Anne, she most likely would have slit Woodes Rogers's throat and been done with it. Seems like a needless loose end. But it's done.

Their standing here would still feel more precarious than it appears regardless.

*

It teeters during the next lead they follow. A merchant sloop under-armed but in the escort of a gunner. No reason for the escort if she's carrying goods of standard value. They've been tailing her supposed course for days before finally spotting her colors south of Port Royal. It's a step up from any of their other hunts with this crew.

"The men are emboldened by this one," Jack says, and it's true that they are, but they're hardly alone in it.

"The men?"

He's either lying to himself or afraid of setting her off. He looks away from her, refuses to answer.

_The latter, then._

"Wind's in our favor. We should be on her in the hour. I have a good feeling about this. It should leave an impression."

"Thought we weren't trying to do that."

"We're not," he denies. Anne shoots him a look. "But just this once. Where's the harm? We get an easy haul. Nassau gets a nice bit of gossip," he tries to reason wryly. "Have them ready the guns. Just to be sure."

It'll be fine. Anne's not even worried about that. It's just that Jack hasn't played the fool for some time. Not since trying to impress both Teach and a dead man.

But the men are with him. They find nothing about it to be reckless. There's no Nassau to disrupt all the way out here in open water. Jack's fought for men's trust and respect the entire time she's known him. He has it now in ways he probably never envisioned. Anne's not about to be the one to jeopardize that.

She gives out his orders to mass approval. Only Read is silent, wary. And Jack might have just lost the admiration of one crewman, but Anne doesn't feel so alone.

She's not the only one to see it.

*

Their information is wrong. The arms on board don't match theirs, but it's still more than they anticipated. The boarding lasts longer than it was meant to, and they lose more men than they should have.

It's a governor's ship out on his personal behalf. Unofficial. Confidential. But when the fighting stops, they find out quickly.

Anne's never shared in Jack's love for art. On its own it seems meaningless, and she doesn't understand how it can be worth as much as it is. In sentiment for those who seek it out, perhaps, but not in monetary appraisal.

How a ship full of sugar primed to be traded is worth less than a few paintings below deck is beyond her. But that's what the gunner had been for. They've taken a ship out of Jamaica belonging to its governor. Another rich fuck with tall taste. And English, which is where the problem lies.

Their flag's plain as day. Stealing from an English governor so soon after ousting of another… it's not a slight worth making. Not when the man ruling over New Providence was put there by them and not a crown. 

The men don't see it that way, and they load up quickly with what they came for.

The gunboat had left as soon as the _Dawn_ had immobilized the sloop, probably for reinforcements. They can't be here for that. Time is of the essence. Jack doesn't offer them quarter. Can't afford to do it. But they don't sink her either.

They leave them frozen under a broken mast and make haste.

*

Once they're under way, Anne keeps a close eye. Read shuffles off quietly, Anne not far behind.

Read heads down to the crew's quarters but doesn't stay with the men. Instead, Anne follows long past them to a storage cabin. They're alone here, though, only one of them is aware.

It might not have been obvious, but it wasn't difficult to spot once studying either. Still, it's different here in the dim light where everything should be easier to hide. Laid out plain like this, breasts bound, wrapping soaked red from a cut to the ribs…Anne shouldn't be here. A part of her knows that, but she can't bring herself to leave either.

Anne watches as Read tries in vain to reach the wound with needle and thread. The efforts result in nothing but grunts of pain.

It's a fucking mess.

"Stop." She lets the door fall shut behind her.

Read jumps slightly then hisses out a curse, grabbing at the wound before trying to cover up. It's too late now, and for a moment they can do nothing but stare at each other. Read looks caught. Guilty. But that ain't what this is.

Anne doesn’t say as much and crosses the floor slowly to take over in suturing. "You should let Dobbins do this."

Their doctor's a shit, but he's good at his job. Anne's never been good with stitching. She's sewn Jack up a few times back when they didn't have a crew. But each time he'd whine about it, and she'd give up halfway through and tell him to finish it himself.

Read can't finish. Can't even start, despite what's said.

"Can handle it myself."

Anne pays that no mind and continues on. She isn't pushed away but glances up more than once to make sure this is alright. It's probably not, but it's better than bleeding on end.

Read looks afraid, and Anne can see an explanation trying to form. It's not without difficulty.

"I don't care," she says. It's harsh, and the look now is one of hurt maybe. But Anne doesn't care about that either. "The story behind this. Don't need to hear it."

Nothing more is said until they're through and they agree to return to deck. Anne makes her way to Jack, looks him over. His wounds were superficial, and he appears to be done cleaning them off. 

"I'm fine," he grimaces and nods toward the cabin doors. "You left in a hurry. The two of you seem to be getting close."

"Thought you wanted me to be more welcoming of new people."

"Just strange is all. You've never shown much concern for any of the men before."

Anne scowls. Misplaced jealousy is the last thing she's interested in right about now.

"And I'm not showing concern for any of the men now," she says plainly and waits for him to finally _get it_.

It takes a moment before it registers, the two of them sharing a glance Read's way.

"Anything else you want to tell me that's been happening on my own ship?"

"Leave it, Jack."

*

They keep their heads down when returning to Nassau. The news of the attack eventually catches wind and finds its way there. No one's pleased with it. Worried that it might spur on other raids from other captains.

Max and Idelle work to calm the street which allows Featherstone to calm his council. Merchants still enter the harbor, and trade is secured. It's forgotten about in Nassau rather quickly. All of it based on fears of possibilities instead of certainties. That's what they've been reduced to. Jack tries his damnedest to go back to ignoring that, and they settle in town and don't entertain the idea of sailing for a while.

Nassau has no need to worry about pirates.

Their leads dry up anyway.

It's a nice show they put on. So much of what they've done here has been for show.

*

They make use of the beach just as they always have. They spend their nights drinking and dancing around a fire pit. It keeps the crew otherwise engaged. Anne's never much involved herself in such affairs. But against her better judgment, she makes it a point to check in on Read.

Anne learns plenty on the subject that is Mark Read.

Mark Read, who heals quickly and talks at the same rate. Not the worst person to spend a day around, though, as it turns out. Anne's so accustomed to Max and Jack, and she can't remember the last time she spoke to anyone else without another purpose lying underneath.

Read never brings up what happened, what Anne learned to be true. But it doesn't overshadow their time together either. It's merely something that exists alongside them. Makes no difference to her. So it's a surprise when it finally is acknowledged.

"There was a reason for it once," Read says in lieu of what have become their normal conversations, gesturing vaguely at his clothes. "But the farther away I get from that reason, the harder it is to remember what that reason was. Why it started. Why it's continued. It's never come up before now."

This has never been shared. Anne is being entrusted with something private. She tries and fails to determine what it exactly was to earn this confidence, but she swears to keep it all the same.

"I could tell you that it's easier to sail like this," Read continues. "That it's easier to fight a war alongside other men. But it would seem on this crew, that don't play no part. There's already one woman here. I suppose there could be another."

"There could." Jack wouldn't care. Not if Anne demanded otherwise. But she already knows that's not where they're headed.

"And if that ain't the reason?" Read's lips press into a thin line before settling on a thought. "Do you think maybe there are things within us that stay hidden? Things that aren't easy. That ain't right. But being like this is the only way I feel right. And I can't believe that's wrong." He smiles, self-conscious. "What sort of world would that be?"

*

Not the one Anne's called her own for some time now. And maybe that's all any of them can ever really hope for in the end.

A world in which they're left be.

*

Anne has always loved the sea most when it was calm. Vast and calm and still loud enough to feel as though she's a part of it. Tonight's like that.

"That does not look promising," Max notes.

_Or it was._

They're on the second level of the tavern. Jack and Featherstone are downstairs in the center of a crowd. Clustered around them with drinks and laughter are men and women alike. Some are from their own crew and the brothel, others Anne barely recognizes, but they're all suddenly on the move.

"It ain't what you think. He just likes to tell his stories. Have an audience for them." Anne wraps her arms around herself. "He's happy." Happy as Jack can ever be anyway.

Max observes him for a moment and nods, almost to herself. "He is."

The mass and Jack look to depart, heading to the governor's mansion no doubt. They follow overhead across the bridge to the inn. Max stops on it as the group below advances up the road.

"When we were in Philadelphia," she begins, "Marion Guthrie asked me if I thought Eleanor had been happy. It had occurred to me that I could not remember anyone ever being truly happy here. Until now." A wistful look catches her. "I had thought I was once. When I first arrived, and freedoms touched me that I never thought would."

Anne remembers that feeling herself. Of coming to a place so untamable, and knowing within it that your life could become your own. That it may be the only thing here you can put reins on.

"It had been a lie," Max continues. "Nothing lasted for longer than a moment, but I did not know better then. I knew of nothing else."

And perhaps more so, Anne understands that, too. "And now?"

"And now…Now, it is easy to predict. I know what my day will bring when I wake up. I know what challenges I will face. And I know if something goes awry, that I am surrounded by people I trust. I have in my control what needs to be in order to have peace of mind."

"But that ain't the same thing, is it?"

"No. But it is close enough." A smile tugs on her lips as Max looks away in the distance again. "You should go after him. See that he does not make a mess of things?" she suggests with a lilt before bidding Anne goodnight.

Anne stays and watches for a moment as Max crosses the bridge before making up her mind.

Three knocks. It's always been three knocks on Max's door. Seems a good number.

It's clear she's not expected, but she's let in without word. She deposits her belt, hat, and jacket on a table, feeling at home, before holding out her hand.

"C'mere."

Max hesitates, tracing her thumb along her fingertips. She's nervous then resolute, closing the distance to take Anne's hand. And it’s the fact that Max is anxious that this is suddenly so easy. She has nothing to be afraid of.

Anne wants this; the life inside this room.

She wants _Max_. Her lips. Her hands. To watch when she drifts back with pleasure.

She's missed the feel of Max's skin against hers. Of feeling safe here with her. Anne's missed knowing that she could belong somewhere other than on a ship or by Jack's side.

Somewhere that happiness needn't be elusive.  

*

She knows this feeling. Knows the heat on her back from the morning sun breaking in through the windows. Knows the fresh sounds from downstairs, differing from the ones throughout the night. Hears coaxing murmurs in French that she doesn't know the meaning of and feels deft hands gently bypassing knots.

It's from a different time, another place. She's had this dream before. 

"Max." And she's grumbled out that before, too, on the edge between sleep and wake. Only this time the voice stops as the fingers continue to stroke through her hair, and this isn't a dream. "It's early." Anne squints against the sunlight and finds Max watching her.     

Unmasked. Affectionate. And suddenly Anne's not so drowsy.

"And you are free to stay here in bed for as long as you like. But I have a meeting." Max says, but she's tracing over one of Anne's earrings and makes no show in moving from this spot.

"A meeting?"

"Mmm. With Idelle and Mr. Frasier."

Max trails lower, brushing under her jaw.

"In how long?"

"Now, I would say."

"You ain't leaving." And Anne can see it on her face that Max is torn. That she wants to stay. Anne reaches out to smooth away her frown because this isn't something Max needs to do. "So don't." Max's fingers stop in their path, and she breathes as though it's the first time in weeks. It can be that simple, can't it?

In this moment, that promised future feels easy in a way that things so rarely do.

*

She had stood over him and watched. She was no stranger to blood by then but never had she seen so much of it flow so quickly. That rotten fuck she had been married to hadn't the time to so much convulse before the life had drained right out of him. And Anne had stood over him and watched until the men they were traveling with rose up and Jack was pulling her out the door by the back of her neck.

She had never tasted freedom before then. But even in this new world, she wasn't looking forward. Anne was adapting. Learning. Molding herself into being like those around her. To being like Jack.

Her life with him was about making it from one day to the next. His life was about what he'd leave behind.

Years of that and nothing but each other until they were cutting down weakened Spanish soldiers. And suddenly, there on an uncharted beach, it was glinting: possibility. The possibility for something more even if it were to only last a week; a month; a year. It was meant to be a victory and deceptive enough to feel like control.

It felt almost like peace. Anne had felt something resembling peace for the first time in her life while Jack and Max were fighting to stay afloat in the wake the gold brought with it.

There was no control. Their world wasn't their own. It had been claimed by men who would call themselves civilized as if men ever were. All they had were marks from where they clawed and scraped away, trying to hold on to something that had never been theirs. But now–

 _Now_.

*

"Afternoon," Jack greets them when they finally make their way downstairs. He's sitting at a table by himself, meal laid out in front of him, three week old newspaper in his hands. He looks well-spent as his eyes flicker between them. "Or perhaps I should say good morning?" he asks archly.

And just this once, Anne would prefer it if he didn't say anything at all. He must read it on her face because all he does is fold back his paper and nod. "Yes, then. For me, too."

Anne sits beside him silently grateful while Max pulls aside a server, ordering something by his ear. She then looks back to Jack, displeased. "It would seem you had a productive night."

"No need to raise alarm. Mr. Featherstone was perfectly well-behaved, I assure you. No one will be questioning your choice for Governor today."

She relents and sits down with them as two other plates of food are brought to their table. It's a companionable meal until Max once again grabs their attention.

"Trade winds have brought new vessels to the bay as of late," she starts. "Inevitably, these same winds have brought their crews to my door. And the girls are so quick to share the stories they've been told."

"Is that so?" Jack's earnest in this game as he has been several times in the past, and Anne could listen to them talk like this for the rest of the day.

"It is hard to know what to make of them. To be given this knowledge of future shipping expeditions that are sure to turn a profit and have no one to share it with," Max trails off casually. "If only there were still pirates in Nassau. I might have found myself in use of these leads."

"Oh, yes, if only." Jack sits back with Anne, enthralled again with purpose to Max's matching grin.

"Have you by chance heard of a merchant ship called the _Kingston?_ "


End file.
